


heard from the underground

by ChaosMidge (NotQuiteInsane)



Series: Burdens of Ancestry [1]
Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: Apophis is sure thinking about it, Body Horror, Childhood Trauma, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Incest????, M/M, Mentions of Breeding, Mind Games, Mind Manipulation, Mindfuck, Mpreg, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Non-Human Genitalia, Other, Oviposition, Possessive Behavior, Set sometime during the Cairo Arc, Size Difference, Stockholm Syndrome, Trauma, idk how much else i can tag but like y'all dead dove, there's like 800 years between them but ig
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:41:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28477824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotQuiteInsane/pseuds/ChaosMidge
Summary: Apophis takes an interest in Hamid and gives him a gift he can't refuse.
Relationships: Hamid Saleh Haroun al-Tahan/Apophis
Series: Burdens of Ancestry [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2085945
Comments: 17
Kudos: 26





	heard from the underground

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PrettyBlueColors](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrettyBlueColors/gifts), [escherzo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/escherzo/gifts).



> I wrote most of this at the beginning of October while Rome was going through its _Egg_ phase and have been staring at it for more than two months now. Take it. I'm done. Might write some more mind fuckery later but who knows.
> 
> Thank you to Carlin who put me back on the correct track after the beginning of this was a _mess_. It's still maybe a mess, but less-so now, due to your wonderful assistance. 
> 
> I can't look at this any more. Take it. If you find any obvious errors or notes I didn't take out, feel free to message me or comment or smth. Cheers. Enjoy some fuckery.
> 
> Title from Chrome Cavities by Frekdrik.

The visit to the Apophis office has them all jittery and on edge. The prospect of meeting a Meritocrat, especially one that the party has recently discovered is the progenitor of Hamid's sorcerous bloodline, is a difficult one to comprehend. They might be agents in the Meritocratic services, but they've always been a step apart from the infrastructure, with Wilde acting as their intermediary.

That being said, the grandeur of the pyramid is unmistakable. Hamid stares up at it and feels something ripple inside him. It’s magnetic, entirely unfamiliar to anything he’s experienced before, but deep down it's clear what it is—he's nearby to a powerful source of magic, one linked inextricably to himself.

The anticipation grows as they pass through sweeping corridors toward the dwelling of the dragon.

It's hard to tell who's more nervous: Wilde or Hamid.

Wilde continues to instruct the party on proper etiquette, all the while reassuring them that Apophis isn't one to stand on ceremony. Grizzop pointedly ignores him in favor of vibrating halfway out of his skin. Azu is smiling down at Hamid and Sasha, the latter of whom is staring around at the gilded edges of everything with a viciously appraising eye.

The meeting goes better than they hoped. Apophis was intimidating, an immense power that Hamid couldn't help but bow before. He's not sure if anyone else did so, but he couldn't help the gesture. It was too much to bear the heat in those eyes, the way they seem to strip him bare and examine his bones, his guts, his _soul_.

When Apophis pronounces him fit to wear the dragon's lineage, Hamid thinks the flush of pride on his face is going to shine like a beacon, like the light in Apophis' own eyes. He can't deny he's pleased at the praise. After all, he's been _trying_ so hard to be better, to be the _best_. Hearing the words from a Meritocrat, even if it's for different reasons than he would have initially thought makes his heart soar.

He leaves the meeting, giddy and excited for what’s to come.

Hamid is, however, incredibly surprised when a runner catches him as the party reaches the front doors of the pyramid. They were celebrating Sasha's soon-to-be living status, but stop and turn when a dwarf in the colors of the Apophis Office calls Hamid's name.

"Apophis would like to have a word with Mr. al-Tahan," she says, clearly out of breath and having had to run to catch up. "The rest of you are free to go. A carriage can be called for him after their meeting."

Wilde glances back at Hamid and frowns. "Apophis asked for him personally?"

The dwarf nods. "That is correct."

"It would be terribly impolite to refuse the summons," Hamid says, though internally he's more than a little delighted. "I wonder what it's about, though. Do you have any idea, Oscar?"

Wilde shakes his head. "Apophis is hardly one to waste time. You'll meet us back at your family's estate before we go to the vaults?"

"Of course! I wouldn't miss it for the world. You all know that." Hamid looks at Sasha and smiles, feeling the joy of something going _right_ through his whole self. "I'm so happy for you, Sasha! I've been so worried. It's going to be better now, you'll see."

Hamid leaves the party behind and follows the dwarf back to Apophis' quarters? Office? Lair? They all feel appropriate, but none more-so than the last as he's ushered through the doors and they close behind him. The old man at the desk is nowhere to be seen, though Hamid makes sure to leave his weapons on the desk regardless. It would hardly do to be impolite at this juncture. Especially not if he wants to hear what his grandsire has to say—and he's very keen.

He looks around, but doesn't see the dragon, in humanoid form or otherwise. He can certainly _feel_ the dragon, though somewhat distant still. That same ripple deep inside of him from earlier is lapping at the edges of his magic and Hamid can't help but feel it's trying to escape his boundaries, trying to reach its source.

Hamid checks his appearance for wrinkles, passing a hand over his face to make sure that he's supremely presentable, and decides to follow the ripples.

The walk begins.

It doesn't take more than a few minutes for Hamid to see that he's making hardly any headway. The space is cavernous at best, gargantuan at the worst. It almost feels like being back in Newton's office, the way that space stretches endlessly onward before him. There is no vaguely sickening warping of the dimensions, but the distance seems just as insurmountable.

"Hello?" Hamid calls out. "Apophis? Are you there?"

In the distance, a light flares and he feels a tug somewhere around his navel. He's not sure what it means, except that there's only one thing it _could_ mean. Apophis is calling for him and the dragon is wherever that light came from.

He continues to walk.

After nearly ten minutes, Hamid realizes what's wrong. He's been looking for a shape in the murky gloom of the pyramid's depths when he should have been looking for a change in depth of field. By the time he realizes that, it's too late and when he looks up, he sees what's been missing from his view.

Apophis is already visible before him, simply bigger and better camouflaged in the darkness than Hamid would have expected from a being composed of fire and shining brass. His bulk reaches so high up that unless Hamid had been watching for the silhouette of dark against black at a 60 degree angle a t the _beginning_ of his walk, he would never have had a chance of spotting the dragon at all. Now that he's looking, though, he sees the outline of what must be Apophis' spines against the pitch dark of the pyramid's heights. Now that he's _looking_ he sees the slow expanding and contracting of great lungs.

He sees a creature the scale of which could never be comprehended without suitable benchmarks.

Hamid lacks those benchmarks entirely in this space.

He's too in awe to decide if that's better or worse and swallows anxiously.

Hamid cranes his neck and can just about see the amusement in the glowing crimson-orange-yellow- _fire_ eyes that flick open to gaze at him. He doesn't have to shade his eyes, but it's a near thing. He squints as though he's looking around in noon-day Cairo sun, but he can still make out the way Apophis cat-slit pupils dilate at the sight of him.

"Hello, little one," comes the voice.

Hamid almost kneels at the sound of it, at the magnitude of it. It rattles his teeth and presses so hard on his eardrums that he can feel them threatening to pop. Apophis had spoken to the party earlier, but that had been nothing like this. This is overwhelming. This is a demonstration of Apophis’ full self.

Hamid is awed by the splendor of him. The brassy scales on his neck and cheeks heat in response to his proximity. It’s almost too much, like standing before a stoked furnace in the dog days of summer—meltingly nonsensical, dizzying, purifying.

"Come closer. We must speak."

The voice hasn't lessened any, though Hamid doesn’t know why it should. Adjusting to the scale of that much power after just three words? Impossible. He wishes he had some sort of spell to mitigate the effects but he doesn’t. He’s wholly unprepared for this being in front of him.

"Excuse me, Apophis, but if it isn't rude to ask, would it be possible for you to—well, your voice, it hurts."

The rumble he receives in response is no less loud, but it doesn't press on his ears in the same way. Instead it thrums in his chest, like a second heartbeat beside his own. (He has the uncanny feeling that if Apophis were to continue to laugh, that rumble would overcome the rhythm of his heart, would replace it.)

"You don't say." Apophis' voice does not change discernably in pitch or volume or resonance and Hamid winces at the presence of it, though the clear amusement does something strange to his stomach. "You can withstand it, surely, little one? Look inside yourself."

Hamid blinks in surprise. If this is a test, it’s not one he knows the answer to. He’s flattered at Apophis’ confidence in him, though, and it sends a glow of pride through him. He closes his eyes and looks.

His magic is there. It’s the barest embers compared to the inferno before him, but that’s only to be expected. He’s only just come into his heritage recently, only learned and had confirmed the source of his power that very day. There are sparks of hope that one day he might reach a fraction of the magnificence of the creature before him.

As Hamid is about to clear his mind and go through the same steps he uses when he casts _Detect Magic_ , he’s startled to feel a pressure at the center of his chest.

His eyes flicker open and he _squeaks_ when he sees a claw, bigger than him, bigger than Azu even, point grazing his chest. It is razor sharp, brass, and curved like a scimitar, though far more deadly. Light glints off it dully.

He’s entirely certain it could kill him if Apophis so much as twitched.

Hamid feels himself swallow around a lump in his throat, mouth dry, gaze intent on the talon before him. He has the intense urge to reach up and put his hands on it, to feel the smooth texture of it, so like his own talons, but at the same time so different.

“Focus, little one.”

Hamid closes his eyes, pretending he doesn’t notice the way his breath shudders out of him—in excitement? Anticipation?

Anticipation for what?

The magic is there and it is bright. It is an ember, yes, but one upon which he only need blow to coax into a blaze. He imagines a protective wall of flame, crackling, licking upwards, between him and Apophis as he concentrates and wills it to grow, wills it to feed and to spread, to set a boundary between him and the outside world.

“Good,” comes the rumble, and it feels smaller, more manageable.

It almost makes him laugh.

A dragon—manageable? Never.

But it also sounds approving. It sounds _proud_ of him, and that causes the ember to grow ever brighter as he flushes with it.

 _You wear your heritage well_ , Apophis had said.

 _Fancy that_ , Hamid thinks, giddy. _A Meritocrat. Proud of me._

Because when has anyone ever been _proud_ of him?

Hamid pushes the thought away like he has so many times before. He pushes it away and smiles at the dragon that rises like a mountain in front of him. He looks at the way Apophis’ form curls and undulates like nothing he’s ever seen in his life, watches the flex of the muscles and the ripple of scales and wonders distantly if one day he could look like this.

It’s a farfetched wondering, he thinks, but it is something to think about.

“What—what did you need from me, Apophis?” He hopes it’s something that he can give. Hamid is fairly certain that the group impressed Apophis earlier, though it remains to be seen whether that impression will carry through after this meeting. He wants only to please the dragon, whatever this business may be.

It will benefit them in their future dealings as Meritocracy employed mercenaries, he thinks.

Only then does Hamid open his eyes and he cannot hold back the surprised squeak that tears from his throat at what comes next.

Before he knows what’s happening, there’s a flash of brass and he’s being swept forward. Air rushes past him and his breath is pulled from his lungs. He almost blacks out with how fast he’s moving upward, his blood staying obstinately down where it was just a fraction of a second ago.

As the spots clear from his vision, he startles to see an enormous eye fixed upon him. The black pupil is so large—perhaps as tall as he is—and close enough that Hamid thinks he can see the muscles within it flex and relax. In half a second the pupil dilates to encompass the whole of Apophis’ iris, so dark, so intense that he feels like the blackness could swallow him whole. So transfixed is he that it takes a moment for him to realize there is nothing supporting him visibly. He is hanging in mid-air and the ground is much, much too far away. It sends a wave of vertigo through him, but he breathes through it.

 _Mage Hand_ , a small part of him says.

 _Wish I could fly_ , a bigger part of him says.

Hamid holds very still.

In actuality, he knows that Apophis won’t drop him, but the fear is very real and he feels very small.

Apophis seems to be amused by his alarm, reading it on his face easily from this close. “Hello, little one. You’re having a pleasant time, I hope?”

Hamid wants to titter nervously at what is clearly a joke, but his stomach is doing too many flopping attempts at climbing up his throat to do so. “I’m very flattered and—and grateful!—that you asked for this meeting, Apophis, sir, but do you think we could do this on the ground? Only, I’m very high up and I think it might be difficult for me to focus on something this important? Please.”

“Now, now, little one,” Apophis croons. “Like should be close to like, don’t you think?”

The tone of Apophis’ voice is entirely unexpected. If Hamid didn’t know any better he would have called it _fond_ , except he hasn’t done anything to deserve that. He only met the dragon today and despite the vague familial connection, there’s nothing tying them together. The magic, maybe?

“I don’t—don’t understand what’s…?” Hamid trails off, staring into the burning eye. It stares back, inscrutable. Whatever thoughts are going on in the mind behind that eye are not for him to understand.

And that’s when Hamid is struck by the situation.

Here he is, stuck in the grip of a creature hundreds of times his size and infinitely more powerful, and it’s looking down at him with a possessive fervor he’s never seen before.

Hamid should feel _safe_ with Apophis—one of the leaders of western society, one of their most respected governors—but instead, his skin is starting to crawl. His every instinct is screaming that there’s something _wrong_ , that he should be _running_.

But even more than the realization that something is wrong is the realization that he can do nothing about it.

The knowledge has him beginning to squirm, beginning to panic. It’s instinctual more than intellectual—because intellectually speaking, Hamid knows that a _Meritocrat_ wouldn’t do anything to him, not when there are people expecting his return, people who can _do_ something—

The panic only increases when the grip in which he’s caught doesn’t loosen in even the slightest way in response to his struggling.

“Put me down!” His voice is squeaky, indignant, but the fear is bound to be as plain to Apophis as the jackrabbit heartbeat in his ears is to him. Hamid’s desperation to have two feet firmly on the floor is tempered only by his awareness that he’s in the clutches of a being that can just as easily kill him as show him any favor. “I cannot speak with you under these conditions. Please! Apophis, put me down!”

“I would prefer to be eye-to-eye for this, little one,” Apophis replies. There’s no hint in his voice that he is offended by the demand or the fear. If anything, he sounds amused. “Look at me.”

Hamid continues to struggle and the invisible hand tightens its grip, squeezing another shriek from him. Frantic, he meets the eye before him, the plea bubbling to his lips before he can stop it. “Please!”

“Silence.”

The tone does what the pressure around his ribs cannot. Hamid stops flailing and freezes.

“Good.” The word rumbles through him, making his stomach flip in a way very different to earlier. “Now, do you know why I’ve called you back?”

A great, glistening eyelid, translucent enough to still let the light of molten fire through, flickers over the surface of Apophis’ eye.

Hamid shakes his head, heeding the previous command, though he has to forcibly swallow a mouthful of saliva and his words.

“Disappointing, but maybe to be expected.”

Hamid doesn’t expect to feel that like a blow to the stomach.

“If you recall, I told you that you wear your heritage well. I stand by that statement. But after you left, I began to consider.” On the last word, Apophis’ tongue flickers out and tastes the air. Hamid doesn’t flinch back as it lightly caresses his cheek, but it’s a close thing. “We Meritocrats, as a rule, don’t interbreed with the populations we oversee. It would to the possibility of favoritism and subsequent accusations of unfair advantages for those who catch our fancy. However, this also means that we have no way to continue our lineage. We dragons live a long time, but we are not infinite. Do you know what this means, little one? You may speak.”

Hamid tries to get his brain in working order, tries to remember how to string two words together to make some kind of reply. “I… I suppose it would mean that you need to—to reproduce. But you also just said that you don’t interbreed and I don’t know how feasible it would be to breed with the other Meritocrats—”

“Quite,” Apophis says, his tongue flickering out yet again. This time it catches the clasp of Hamid’s Robe of Arcane Heritage. The fabric flutters to the floor, unheeding of the magical grip which has hoisted Hamid aloft. Hamid can feel his features—

No. Wait.

Hamid frowns.

Last time he took the cloak off, he could _feel_ the way his face and skin became less draconic. But now they’ve stayed the same… He doesn’t know what that means, but he’s sure that it’s nothing good.

“I told you that you wear your heritage well. And I think that you are also apt to do something else, Hamid Saleh Haroun al-Tahan.”

“Wha—”

Before he can so much as process what the dragon said, Apophis speaks a word, harsh, resounding, laden with magical power. Hamid feels something inside him twist and shift and he _screams_ in pain. He thinks he must black out for a time because when he blinks he feels _different_ , he feels hot and itchy and—and, _hungry_ in a way that isn’t unfamiliar to him, but the sensations are—

Apophis laughs, loud and long and thrumming in Hamid’s chest and—

And between his legs.

 _What_?

“Wh—What have you done to me? I demand answers, Apophis! Wha—”

But he’s descending, falling faster than a stone, air whipping past him and his stomach dragging behind on tenterhooks. The stone floor rushes up to meet him and he tries to scream, but again there’s no _air_ and he _hates_ this, being tossed around like a piece of _meat_ —

Hamid is placed on the floor hard enough to bruise, but not hard enough to break anything. He’d slowed enough, perhaps, or the Meritocrat has a concrete need for him to be in one piece.

He lays there, chest heaving, trying to recover the breath that was stolen from him by the descent.

“You do look quite fetching like that, little one,” comes the voice of Apophis as his head arches down close. “But I wager you’d look better like…”

A talon comes down and runs collar to navel, splitting his magical garments along a neat line.

“What! No!” Hamid tries desperately to cover himself. “What are you doing? This is highly inappropriate! I—I want to leave! My friends are waiting for me!”

“No, no. Leaving is quite impossible now. Or have you not figured out what’s going on?” Apophis’ tongue comes out for what Hamid thinks is going to be a third flick, but this time it trails slowly up his body, from groin to chin and—

Gods, he feels warm.

Hamid shivers and trembles where he lays. It’s not… it can’t be…

Apophis must see the dawning realization on his face because something like a smile splits his mouth and shows every single one of those razor-sharp teeth. “Yes, little one. You’re beginning to understand now. You carry your heritage well. I think you are fit to carry my legacy, too.”

Hamid screams as the tongue comes back out and licks between his legs, undulating smoothly and rhythmically against him. He feels heat pooling low in his belly and he—

He’s not hard, he realizes with a start. He doesn’t feel hard. Which should be a good thing because he’s scared out of his mind, but instead, he feels a seeping heat in the tatters of his trousers.

His second realization is nearly worse than the first.

“Yes, now you have it.” Apophis’ snout dips lower to spread his legs and Hamid whimpers as he hears a definite inhale. “If you’re to carry my eggs, I need you to have different equipment, so to speak. Luckily, polymorph is an incredibly versatile spell for those with the knowledge to manipulate it to our will. Now, I need to get you good and ready. Hold still.”

Hamid does not hold still. He tries to scramble backward, away from Apophis questing snout and flickering tongue, but Apophis huffs a word and Hamid feels his muscles lock.

“I said hold still.”

The words are cold, hard, unyielding.

They strike at a very particular and very familiar place in Hamid’s mind, freezing all thought of resisting.

Hamid reels in the unexpected backlash of the dragon’s disappointment as Apophis’ tongue runs over his immobile body. It picks off the shreds of his clothing and ghosts over every inch of skin that’s exposed in the process. When he’s fully naked, his eyes flick down and he sees what the dragon has done to him. His cock is gone, replaced by a small thatch of hair, within which he can see—

Hamid moans, quite involuntarily, as Apophis’ huge tongue swipes up over his cunt and clit before circling around one of his nipples. _Circling_ isn’t quite the word, though. Just the tip of Apophis’ tongue engulfs half of his chest.

He’s terrified. He’s alone. He wants to scream as he’s violated.

But he can also feel himself growing wetter. And not just from Apophis hot saliva. There’s slick dripping from his cunt—he can _feel_ it as his opening clenches.

And Apophis can see it.

“Good, good, little one. I need you nice and wet for when I lay the egg. Wouldn’t do to hurt you. I suppose I could heal you after, but the egg won’t sit as well if I do that.” Apophis nudges Hamid’s thighs wider and inhales the scent of him. “Oh, yes. I was right about you. You smell ripe for it. A perfect specimen.”

Hamid is crying. He can feel the tears slide hot down his face, can feel his breath hitching in his chest, can feel the nausea of stress and fear creeping up on him like a dagger in the back. The sharp contrast between his terror and the too much not enough of Apophis tongue is making him dizzy and he can feel something rising within him. Something that he can name but fervently doesn’t _want_ to because he knows what it is and it’s horrible, it’s awful and he—

Hamid comes with a high-pitched wail and above him, Apophis laughs.

“Excellent. You’ll need to do that at least twice more to lubricate the way. Let’s see how you’re doing now, little one…” Apophis’ tongue seems to shrink—the whole of the dragon seems to shrink—telescoping inwards with his tongue as the anchor point. Within seconds, he has shrunk to less than half his normal size and shows no signs of slowing. It’s even more nausea inducing to watch, though, and Hamid closes his eyes.

He doesn’t know how long it is before he feels something hot and rough probing at his entrance. The texture is distinct and catches on his skin like a cat’s tongue—

Hamid opens his eyes to find a brass dragon before him, roughly the size of a bull elephant, tongue beginning to press slowly into his— _gods_ —into his cunt. He fights back a whimper as it stretches him, even in its diminished state. The tip of it slides further in and it’s alien and invasive and wrong, but it catches at his insides and even so soon after coming it feels _amazing_.

The sob that rips from his throat is halfway between despair and intense arousal. He feels like he’s being torn in two directions. His body wants this, is begging for it with every nerve ending. It wants to be filled, to be fucked, to be _bred_ and he has no idea where the instinct is coming from. Every ounce of _himself_ , though, every ounce of _Hamid_ wants to scream and fight back and flee. But he can’t. He’s still being held tight by whatever spell Apophis has cast upon him, free only to cry and scream in response to what is being done to him.

The tongue withdraws and he feels a plea bubble up in his throat, only just manages to hold it back.

“Yes, I think two more times will be sufficient.” An orange eye like an inferno fixes its gaze on him, nearly blinding him—which Hamid thinks he would have preferred to having to watch any more of this torture. “You taste incredible, little dragonling. Do you know that?”

Apophis laughs as Hamid screws his eyes shut.

Hamid does indeed come two more times. Once from the continuous ministrations of Apophis tongue on his clit and nipples. The second time he comes on that tongue fucking deep inside of him, reaching parts of him that are still so new to sensation that he can’t help but cry out at the rawness of them, like an exposed nerve linked directly to his hindbrain. The small amount of bodily autonomy he manages to get back is devoted to trying _not_ to buck into the appendage, trying _not_ to push himself down on it while moaning and begging.

(He’s been begging for quite a while now, mixtures of _yes please gods please_ and _no no stop I’ll do anything just stop this!_ And his mind is so muddled with overstimulation that he’s not sure which one is the truth.)

This is the point at which Apophis smiles that dagger toothed smile again and says, “Yes, I think you’re ready now, little one. You’re ready for your first egg.”

Hamid lays on the cold stone floor, shivering and naked, the muscles in his abdomen twitching with the aftershocks of his latest orgasm. He gasps for breath, shallow little inhales that don’t do nearly enough, but he doesn’t have the presence of mind to try for deeper.

“Please,” he says, turning his head to the side and squeezing his eyes shut. He feels more tears falling from his eyes, but can’t stop them even though he knows they do nothing. Apophis has not been swayed by them in the slightest. “Please don’t do this. I—I don’t even know how this could work. You’re just—you don’t—”

“I don’t what, little dragonling?” Apophis laughs. “Don’t have a cock to fuck you with?”

Hamid clenches his jaw but doesn’t reply. He feels rather than sees the shadow of the dragon as it looms over him. The heat radiating from Apophis’ scales is almost welcome after the chill of the stone floor against his skin. _Almost_.

Without warning, he feels something nudge against his opening, wide and hot and he bares his teeth as another sob racks through him. He’s held still by the front claws of the dragon and feels his tongue flicker through the tears and sweat on his face. “It’ll be a bit of a stretch, but bear with it. It will feel good in a moment.”

The cock—because that’s what it must be—at his opening presses forward and he feels as it spears him open, dragging thick and heavy as his opening widens to accommodate. He doesn’t scream again, but it’s a near thing. His voice is so hoarse at this point, he’s not sure it would have made a sound in any case.

Slowly, slowly, Apophis presses forward. Wider and wider Hamid’s entrance stretches until with a nearly audible _pop_ the head of the dragon’s cock slides in and he moans. Even just this is enough to fill him to an intense degree. And it’s not even all of it. He can feel the ridges of Apophis’ cock as he continues to press in, catching and then sliding further in, rubbing at all the spots that had been sensitized by his catlike tongue. He’s so slick that the slide would be nothing to a human or halfling cock. But the ridges on Apophis’ catch him _just so_ to be maddening.

Hamid moans, tilting his hips to give better access and then immediately tilts them back when he realizes what he’s doing. Unfortunately, this has the opposite effect and he feels a jolt of pleasure at the motion as the ridges catch on his inner walls. He bites his lip to stifle the next moan, but can’t help the third when Apophis laughs and his cock seems to _vibrate_ thin him.

“Feels good, doesn’t it? To be filled up by me? I did tell you. Just wait until I breed you, little dragon. You’ll feel even better then. Now hold still. This requires a bit more finesse.”

Hamid’s face burns how with the words, shame filling him as much as the cock inside him. Shame because they make his inner walls clench down quite against his will. Apophis laughs again when he feels it, but doesn’t stop. His weight starts to press down on Hamid and the halfling is engulfed by that heat yet again. He feels Apophis cock press forward and it hits something inside him that make him cry out. This _hurts_ and he doesn’t know what it is, doesn’t know what’s going on, but he can feel something pushing against that whatever-it-is. He feels it _breach_ him and has to swallow a wave of nausea at the alien sensation.

Apophis shushes him as he begins to take in rattling breaths. Whatever amount of pleasure he’d been feeling before has been wiped away by this sensation.

But then something else nudges at his entrance and he freezes, no longer squirming underneath Apophis’ bulk. It feels like the dragon’s cock is swelling, stretching him even wider. He can’t help the moan that bursts forth. It’s so much. He’s being split in two by whatever it is.

In a moment, it’s over and whatever caused Apophis to swell has passed into him. With what little reasoning is left in his fucked out brain, he realizes what it must be.

 _An egg_.

He begins to struggle again in earnest, but the force that held him down is compounded by the weight of the dragon above him.

“Still, little one,” Apophis says, and Hamid screams as the width of the egg starts to press against that place inside him, begins to press _through_ and even deeper than Apophis had managed. It feels like ripping, like tearing, and he screams, high and shrill. He feels the dragon’s tongue flicker down and wipe the tears from his face, but he can’t care. It’s too much, it’s too big—

And then it’s through.

A swell of nausea rises like a wave in him and this time he can’t hold back. He turns his head to the side and loses whatever is left of his breakfast. Apophis, perhaps, had predicted this turn of events and had released the spell holding him, allowing him to turn and curl up on his side as the dragon’s ridged cock pulls out of him with a slick rush of something Hamid doesn’t care to identify.

Laying on the stone floor shaking, Hamid begins to shiver. Everything feels so cold. _He_ feels so cold. He wants his clothes back. He wants to be out in the Egyptian sun. He wants to be in his bed at home with the covers wrapped around him and the promise of a good meal.

Hamid cries.

At some point he passes out.

When Hamid wakes again, he’s strangely calm. Impossible to keep that fever pitch of panic going for an extended period of time, maybe. But his head aches and so does everything from the waist down.

When he builds up the force of will to look at his surroundings, he’s surprised to find himself in the middle of what looks like a lounge. There are pillows and rugs spread around him, cradling him in what must be the most comfortable bed he’s ever lain in. Beyond a circle of ten feet, though, the verisimilitude vanishes and the now familiar stone of the pyramid’s inside spreads around him in all directions. He’s still in the depths of the dragon’s lair and when he crawls to the edge of the circle and reaches out a hand, he finds an invisible barrier blocking his way.

He is a prisoner.

Hamid’s lower lip begins to tremble and he winces as the ache between his legs forces itself to the forefront of his mind. He’s still naked and has no trouble looking down to examine himself.

Whatever kind of polymorph changed him, it’s not something that he recognizes. It’s lasted far longer than it should, at least, and he’s still bearing the genitals that Apophis forced upon him. And yes. That’s about what he thought it was.

He lays back into the pillow and doesn’t look any further.

What he does do is run a hand over the slight bulge on his lower stomach. It feels… bigger than he would have expected. The—he doesn’t want to think about it, but—the _egg_ that Apophis had forced into him hadn’t been so large, he thinks. It couldn’t have been large enough to even show on the outside, could it?

Hesitantly, Hamid reaches down and touches the tender flesh at his opening. He bites his lip as a flare of heat tingles up his spine and gives up trying to approximate how big the egg was. It doesn’t matter.

And he’s trying not to think about…

It’s his body, yes, but it’s not _his_ body and the thought is causing him more distress than he would have thought. When his hands turned to talons in Other London, he had been disturbed. He had been insensate. But this is different.

It’s different because while he has never in his life thought about having a cunt or a… a womb, he undeniably has those things now. And… and he can’t find the seams of himself where they feel wrong.

By no means does it feel _right_ , but there has always been a transitional space between his dragon-ness and his halfling-ness.

As if to prove it to himself, Hamid concentrates and his hands elongate and change, growing brass and scaly— _squamous_ comes the word floating unbidden to his head. Sure enough, he can see the disturbed flesh between scales and skin. When he tries to touch it, to feel that there’s a sort of seam, he grows confused at the logistics and brings it up to his face to feel instead.

To his great surprise, he finds the skin of his face scalier than it was before. There is less sacrifice of sensation than he expects, but there is undeniably less open skin.

Hamid grits his teeth to keep his lip from trembling.

“You’re awake.”

The words boom across the space and before Hamid can do so much as reach for a cushion with which to cover himself, the air around him flashes hot and windy with the disturbance of wingbeats. Apophis’ bulk descends from somewhere above and Hamid stares upward in a daze as the dragon, back to his full size, lands over top of him and snakes his head down to fix him with a furnace-orange stare. He’s pinned by it more surely than he is by any spell. His heartbeat is a rapidly pulsing lump in his throat and a shudder runs through him.

Apophis’ tongue comes out again and laves slowly over Hamid’s exposed belly. It feels like a caress.

It feels wrong.

Hamid scrambles backward, but hits the invisible barrier—a barrier which seems not to affect Apophis at all.

Apophis lets out a low growl and moves his head to follow. “Now, now. Is that really necessary?”

Hamid feels a rush of anger and pushes his talons out in front of him. He shouts a word and a bead of light like a tiny sun shoots from his hands. When it hits the dragon’s snout it explodes like one of Sasha’s bombs, but bigger. If Hamid hadn’t already been pressed against the invisible wall, he would have been thrown into it by the force of the explosion.

 _Fireball_ , he thinks in a daze as the smoke begins to clear.

Apophis’ teeth are bared.

“That was monumentally foolish.” An enormous foot slams out and two talons pin Hamid to the plush floor. Apophis voice rises and the pressure on Hamid’s limbs increases. “Your spells can do nothing against me, dragonling. Cease this at once before you endanger yourself and the treasure you carry.”

Hamid is struggling to breathe with the weight on him, though he notices that his lower belly is free of any and all pressure.

Gods, it really is an egg, isn’t it?

Hamid stops fighting and lays there, tears slowly dripping from his eyes.

Apophis, in that strange way he has, begins to shrink. His form compacts down, down, down. The inhuman joints crack and rearrange into something vaguely resembling the form that he had taken when LOLOMG visited earlier—was that today? Yesterday? Hamid tries not to think about his inability to distinguish the passing of days in this place.

Within a minute, Apophis is the size of a tall human and approximately the same shape. There are subtle differences—the multitude of brass scales upon his face and arms, the unmistakable curve of a tail trailing from his robe, the horns that jut from the skin of his hairless head. He likely reaches over two meters tall, but Hamid can’t be entirely sure from this angle, still pinned as he is by the dragon.

Apophis eyes are undeniably the same.

Hamid looks away from them.

“Are you going to behave now, little one?” Apophis’ voice is still as booming as before, though the intensity has changed. It’s deeper, even if Hamid wouldn’t have believed it possible. The hiss of dragon vocal cords has also lessened. Apophis sounds as close to human or halfling as he’s ever going to.

“Why are you doing this to me?” Hamid is pressing his eyes closed as tightly as possible, as if trying to escape the burning edge of that stare. “I don’t understand any of this. Why me? Why now? I just… I just want to go home. _Please_.”

Apophis’ tail twitches behind him. Hamid feels it through the way Apophis’ legs are trailing over his own.

“I knew the second I saw you that you would make an excellent broodmate,” Apophis says. He leans forward and presses his face to Hamid’s neck, the searing heat of him making the halfling cry out. When the dragon breathes in, Hamid realizes that he’s _scenting_ him. It’s confirmed in his captor’s next words. “Yes, yes. You’re perfect. I can smell your body accommodating my egg, changing to fit its needs. Only one of dragon heritage could do this for me, and there are remarkably few of you left in the world. I’ve kept your sister close to me, but she never showed any signs of the blood inside her. But she is an excellent assistant, so I kept her around despite that.”

 _Saira_ , Hamid thinks desperately. _Does Saira know he’s here? Can she help him?_

“I know what you’re thinking, little one. And no. No one can help you out of here. You’re mine now.” Apophis mouth opens and Hamid lets out a shaky breath as the dragon’s very warm, very soft lips fasten around his pulse point.

The two of them lay there, just like that, as the seconds tick past.

Hamid can feel himself trembling against Apophis’ wiry frame. He feels so small, so weak, so powerless.

There’s nothing he can do but lay here, pinned by one of the most powerful creatures in the world.

At some point, Hamid realizes that Apophis has started to move. His lips begin to move across Hamid’s neck, leaving featherlight kisses across his skin, trailing up to the soft skin behind his ear where he sucks a mark.

To his horror, Hamid can feel a heat gathering low in his belly at this. He can feel the racing of his heart adjust from queasy fear to interest under the dragon’s mouth and he _hates_ it.

He wants to pull away, wants to tell the dragon to stop, but what’s the point, really? Apophis has already proved that he can do whatever he wants to the halfling. Nobody can hear him scream. He can’t damage the dragon in any way that matters. He just…

Hamid closes his eyes and tries to relax his straining muscles.

“Good,” Apophis says, and a memory of him saying this exact same thing in praise of Hamid’s magical ability rises unbidden to the surface. He hates that it make him flush with an ugly sort of pride.

He doesn’t even realize he’s crying again until Apophis tongue, still dragon-like, still rough and curiously dexterous, licks the tears from his face.

A hand trails down his torso and stops to rest on his lower belly.

“Can you feel it?” Apophis whispers in his ear, lips tickling the shell of it, breath hot as an inferno. “Can you feel it growing inside you, little dragon?”

Hamid bites his lip as the hand on his belly presses down and he can feel the shape of the egg, a disturbing combination of soft yet unyielding weight. Apophis hand continues to stroke the skin, a joyful hum falling from his lips as he does so.

“It’s almost big enough for me to fertilize already. It’s already so finely attuned to your magic. Lovely, the both of you.”

Hamid shivers again, but this time it’s nothing to do with the temperature. The words are… he can’t deny the power behind them, the possessive tone.

Then the dragon’s hand slides lower and Hamid’s breath catches in his throat. He holds as still as he can as Apophis’ talons—so much like his own that he can imagine what they look like, even with his eyes shut—press against the tiny nub of his clit.

“What do you think, little one?” Apophis’ voice has changed again and Hamid thinks it’s almost mocking this time. “Should we practice breeding you? I promise you’ll enjoy it.”

Hamid lets out a shuddering breath and turns his head away from Apophis words, trying not to move into the way his talons have caught his clit between them and begun to rub slow circles. It _has_ to be an artifact of the new parts, of the magical nature of them.

He doesn’t want this. He doesn’t—

Hamid gasps as something teases at his sore opening. It can’t be either of Apophis’ hands, they’re still occupied.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he moans as he realizes. _Mage Hand_.

And then he claps his hand to his mouth because he had not meant to say that aloud.

Apophis chuckles and shifts down enough to flick at one of Hamid’s nipples with his tongue.

Against his better judgement, Hamid cracks his eyes and glances down at the dragon, only to find orange eyes blazing up at him. The expression on the draconic face is one that Hamid would have described as _glee_ if it didn’t belong to a Meritocrat.

“You don’t have to suffer through this, little dragon,” Apophis says and flicks his tongue over Hamid’s nipple again before lightly pressing sharp teeth to the sensitive bud.

Hamid can’t look away from those eyes, can’t look away from the way white teeth, sharp as daggers, play with his nipple and somehow don’t _hurt_ him, don’t make him _bleed_.

“I can’t,” he whimpers. “I can’t. Please. Please stop.”

But Apophis only doubles down, sucking on his nipple until Hamid throws caution to the wind and tries to push Apophis’ head away. Until that moment, he had assumed the dragon wouldn’t _let_ him move his arms, even if he wasn’t fully pinned anymore. Covering his mouth was one thing, but now Hamid has a hand on Apophis’ right horn and the sigh of pleasure that comes from the dragon makes Hamid’s stomach drop through the floor.

He’s shocked enough that he lets go.

A finger of Apophis’ _Mage Hand_ presses up into him and Hamid forgets what he was doing.

The hum of laughter makes Hamid bite his lip.

The finger presses deeper and Apophis’ talons expertly rub his clit. Hamid can feel that now familiar warmth rising in him again and he wants to push it back down, wants to tell it _no, stop_ , but he can’t. If his body is an instrument, Apophis is as skilled as any bard, playing him expertly.

Like a tool.

Like an entertainment.

Hamid feels a whimper rip from his throat as he comes on Apophis’ _Mage Hand_. It evaporates and he feels himself flutter around the emptiness. He—

“Good,” says Apophis, taloned hand returning to his belly and rubbing, almost thoughtfully. “You’re doing so well, little one. Now, let us continue.”

The dragon slides down his small body, leaving a trail of kisses as he goes and paying special attention to the small bulge of the egg. Hamid is still coming back down from the orgasm, but he swears he hears the dragon _cooing_ to the lump.

But then the dragon presses his nose against Hamid’s thigh and breathes in his scent, and _what is it with this dragon and smelling him_ , but the flare of heat that rises in his belly at the resulting satisfied hum is so _wrong_ that Hamid has had enough.

“Stop!” And he puts his hands back on Apophis’ horns and tries with all his strength to push him away. He doesn’t care anymore. He just wants this damned dragon _off_ of him. He doesn’t care what happens, he wants him _gone_. He puts as much magic into his voice as he can and while he knows there’s no way it will work, he entwines his words with the same feeling as _Charm Person_ and says, “Get off of me!”

Apophis stills.

Hamid can feel the faintest flicker of his tongue against the skin of his thigh.

“I wonder,” Apophis says, voice threateningly quiet, “how long it will be until you beg for me, little one. How long until you’re crying with the need for me?”

And before Hamid has any idea what’s happening, Apophis is gone.

There is the faintest sound in the distance of great wingbeats.

Hamid lays for a while, dazed and confused in the nest of cushions. He finds himself freezing almost as soon as the aftershocks from his last orgasms leave him. The warm glow of it—and he hates that he thinks of it as a _glow_ —was the only thing keeping him from shivering violently, even among the plush objects around him. But for as many pillows as there are, there are no blankets, and even the rug is too heavy for him to get a grip on. Besides, the edges of it are outside the edges of his invisible cage and he can’t get purchase enough on the top of it to even wrinkle the thing.

Exhausted and freezing, Hamid lays among the pillows with his eyes squeezed shut. He’s trembling as much from the tiredness and cold and shock as—

His mind is a wreck. He’s not sure if he actually slept as much as lost consciousness earlier and it’s beginning to take a toll.

Hamid is also _ravenous_. He’s _parched_.

He’s already looked around for some manner of food or water, but there’s nothing aside from the pillows that form his little—

Nest.

Hamid looks down at the bump and then looks away.

Time passes strangely within the pyramid. He gave up screaming for help what feels like hours ago, but without any incoming daylight or some sort of time keeping device, he’s lost. Seconds are easy enough, but the minutes blur and by the time they reach hours, it’s a haze.

The barriers are no less solid now than they were before.

Hamid has stopped shaking for the most part, though he still feels terribly cold. There’s no sign in his toes or fingertips that he’s actually going to be harmed by it, but he feels it down to the bone. For half a second, he considers trying to light something on fire, but if all the cushions catch, he can hardly make it out.

A part of him wants to call Apophis back. He knows the dragon must be listening in, wherever he is. The thought of it makes him queasy, though. There’s no telling what his body is going to do in reaction to the stress of the current predicament and he doesn’t want to risk throwing up what little moisture he has left.

And so he waits.

Naked, cold, and alone.

Hamid fell asleep at some point, but he’ll be damned if he can twig exactly when. What he knows is that there is a small tray of food sitting beside him when he wakes and he falls upon it. It isn’t nearly enough to fill his belly, but it’s enough to stave off the gnawing at his insides.

There is a large pitcher of water next to the food and he takes care to sip on it slowly.

It’s warm.

Not enough to warm him, though.

He thinks a day or more must have passed. There has been no sign of life from the surrounding pyramid. No trace of Apophis or any of his attendants. No sign of his sister, Saira—for which he’s not sure if he should be grateful or disappointed.

The party should be looking for him by now, he thinks, taking slow sips of what remains of his water. He told them he would meet back up with them the same day and that’s well over. Even if they couldn’t get back to the Meritocratic offices, they should at least have sent a runner. Wilde, even, could come looking for him, positioned as he is as a high-ranking Meritocratic agent.

But there has been neither hide nor hair of the man.

It hurts more than Hamid thinks it should.

He’s always looked up to the suave gentleman. From the beginning of their acquaintance, Hamid considered him a friend, even if the rest of the party viewed him with suspicion or downright dislike. Wilde has only ever tried to assist them, even if his methods have been opaque at best.

But even aside from Hamid’s personal feelings toward their handler, he is consumed with a worry for his friends not coming to get him. While the mission is important, as is Sasha’s recovery, they’d planned on doing it together. Except…

Except they need to get the Heart of Aphrodite within the approved timeframe and while he thinks that the party _should_ carry on with the plan without him, a small part of them despairs that they have.

Which is horrible of him and Hamid feels his face fall when he realizes the emotion seated deep within him.

More than anything else, he wonders why this is happening to him. Apophis gave him a reason, sure, but _why_? This isn’t the way their adventure is supposed to be going. He’s supposed to be making the world better. He’s supposed to be adventuring and helping people and finding the simulacrum that may hold the key to the future of the civilized world!

And then all of this happened.

Hamid curls up around one of the pillows and traces the delicate embroidery, a pattern of black and orange paisleys on a grey background that reminds him only of the place he is in

Not for the last time he wishes that he was home, within the walls of the al-Tahan estate with his friends, with his family, laughing and talking and—

A twinge of discomfort draws Hamid’s mind away from the pillow and toward the weight in his belly. Frowning, he slides a hand down to feel. When he reaches it, he immediately stops.

It’s grown bigger.

Not by a lot, but enough to be noticeable. Enough for him to be able to press down on it and actually recognize the shape of it.

He bites his lip as the pressure of it lights on something inside him.

Nervous, but not a little bit curious, he presses down more and has to stifle a moan with his other hand. He glances around, but sees nothing in the darkness. He doesn’t expect to, of course, but a youth with multiple siblings caused him to be cautious about this sort of thing.

Hamid lightly touches the shape of the egg, pressing it gently back and forth, feeling how it moves inside of him, how it presses against unfamiliar nerves. It’s not _bad_ by any means. The discomfort from earlier—yesterday?—has mostly vanished as he’s gotten used to no longer having a cock, to having something growing inside him. It’s stranger than anything he’s ever experienced, certainly, and he struggles to categorize how he feels. Before there had been only panic and disorientation and denial, but Hamid has had a lot of time with nothing to do other than drift in and out of sleep.

Slowly, trying not to think too hard about what he’s doing, Hamid presses down on the egg with the flat of his palm. When it presses against that spot inside of him again, he holds it there, just feeling the way it leeches heat into his body. It’s nice after the cold he’s been feeling. It feels nice.

Hamid can also feel himself reacting in other ways. A swelling that feels somewhat familiar, but still alien enough that he knows it must be his new biology. With one hand still on the bulge of the egg, he lets the other one trace slowly lower. When it reaches his clit, he’s surprised to find it slightly engorged, and he presses down on it without thinking.

 _Gods_.

He bites his lip and lets his eyes fall closed. Between the feeling of the egg beneath his palm and the growing heat between his legs, he’s not nearly as chilled as before. He keeps touching himself, lightly at first, just exploring where he hadn’t let himself earlier. When he abandons his clit and presses a finger to his opening, Hamid finds himself wet. Not dripping by any means, but as he dips his finger in, he gasps at the slick softness.

It’s not that he hasn’t felt this before—Liliana had been quite a voracious lover—but combined with it being _his_?

He doesn’t bother to suppress his moan as he presses in between his folds and at the same time cups the shape of the egg. The corresponding curls of pleasure that well up from within him are enough reward to make him do it again. And again.

As the pressure begins to build within him, he starts to chase it, all of this sensation too new, too different from his previous experience, to want to go slowly. He moves his finger into himself faster, starts to press in a second when he remembers how good it feels to be stretched like—

And immediately stops.

 _Fuck_.

Hamid slams his hands down to the floor next to him and tries not to think about what he was doing just then, tries so hard not to think about the pulsing heat between his legs. About how badly he wants to touch and rub and—

This is _wrong_ , he tells himself. All of this is so wrong.

He can imagine Apophis watching from a distance, laughing in that low rumble. He wants to scream, so he does.

He’s so tired of screaming. Tired of crying.

He just wants to sleep.

So he does.

The next time Hamid wakes, it’s because he is too cold to stay asleep. A shiver racks his body.

This isn’t just his lack of clothing, Hamid thinks, desperately weary. Even without his clothes or a blanket or similar, he has never had this problem before. He’s a halfling. He’s _sturdy_ , even if he grew up in Cairo, is used to the warmth of it. This chill in his bones is something very different.

And it’s only getting worse the more time passes.

Hamid stares down at the bump under his navel and wonders if it’s the egg. He wonders if it’s something to do with his magic. He wonders if it’s Apophis’ fault. He wonders if it’s the pyramid itself.

In the end, he has no idea and tries to bury himself under as many pillows as he can.

It doesn’t help.

Time passes in much the same way it has been.

Hamid is cold.

Food and water are left nearby.

He is provided a chamber pot which empties itself magically.

Hamid is alone.

The bump is growing bigger.

And he’s just so damned _cold_.

He thinks a few more days must have passed by now. He hasn’t felt this alone, this abandoned, this _used_ in a very long time. Not since Gideon’s betrayal and his subsequent expulsion. None of his university friends would speak to him for the shame of it. Liliana had abandoned him entirely. All because Gideon had a prank to play and Hamid was a convenient patsy.

It’s starting to break him.

Hamid has begun to peer into the darkness, sending out his _Dancing Lights_ as far as they will reach beyond the barrier—which seems not to care about his magic—to seek out any sign of life. But not only does he find no one in the gloom, he also cannot see even the faintest traces of the walls. The pyramid truly is enormous. And Hamid is very small. He has never felt smaller in his life.

At some point, he begins to speak to himself. Little reassurances that his friends will come for him, acknowledgements that this is all terribly horrifying, and admonishments directed at himself for letting any of this happen. He should have had his guard up, he tells himself. Should have known that the dragon’s interest in him was... was something other than approval or praise or whatever he’d thought it was. He should have refused the meeting with the Meritocrat—but there’s the crux of it, right? He couldn’t have denied Apophis for the sheer fact that _he is a Meritocrat_.

The party had seen the sheer power of the dragons as they left Paris. They had felt the shockwaves of Guivres’ flyover, when she _glassed_ Eiffel’s Folly. At the time Hamid was awed. No matter how terrible the sight, it was also the most [mindboggling] show of power he’d ever seen. The way it made his heart tremble in his chest—nothing to do with the shockwaves—was something akin to _yearning_.

But to have that power focused on him and him alone?

It’s more than he can handle.

It’s more than he should have wanted, even for a brief moment.

Hamid wakes cold and alone with his heart racing. He hasn’t spoken to another being in gods know how long. It feels like an itching at the inside of his mind, this need to see someone, to speak, to touch someone and be touched in return. Hamid’s always been a tactile creature, but this is worse than it’s ever been before, hollowing him out and leaving him painfully empty. There’s the simultaneous need to cry and kick his feet in frustration, but it only feels worse when he does that, like he’s giving in to what he _knows_ is Apophis’ plan.

Because the dragon had said it himself. Hamid would eventually _beg_ for his company. He’s already crying with the need for contact, let alone social stimulation.

He’s taken to pacing the bounds of his cage, kicking cushions at random before throwing himself down onto them.

It takes one bad landing for him to stop doing the latter. The egg jostles uncomfortably inside of him and he has a flash of panic that he’s _damaged_ it. A soft hand across his belly had shows no signs of distress, though, and he breathes a sigh of relief.

So, he lays there, consumed with a growing anxiety that he cannot name.

It takes only one more sleep for Hamid to break.

He wakes alone in a cold sweat, his pulse thundering in his ears and an intense need to reach out for someone, anyone. He can’t do this anymore. The itching inside of his head is overwhelming and no amount of speaking to himself, of rubbing his arms and hugging his arms around him makes the slightest difference.

When he screams into the darkness of the pyramid, there’s no answer.

He screams himself hoarse.

He screams his throat raw.

He screams the names of his friends, begging them to come save him, where they are, why they’ve left him here.

Eventually, spurred on by the desperation and the itching he screams Apophis’ name. Over and over he screams and prays to whatever gods are listening that he won’t be alone anymore.

At some point, he thinks he hears an answering growl, but when he waits and listens, there are no further sounds.

Hamid curls up in a ball on the floor and cries himself to sleep.

This time when he wakes, Hamid feels warm for the first time in recent memory. His mind no longer itches with that incessant hunger for contact and he basks in it, eyes still closed. For a moment, just a moment, he imagines that he is home, tucked into bed with soft blankets around him.

Warm.

Safe.

When he opens his eyes, he half expects to see the four-poster bed of his childhood room and the games scattered across the floor, just the way he left them.

Instead, he is greeted with the sight of brass scales, glinting dully in the torchlight. A great tail is wrapped around his sleeping place, radiating heat like the rays of the sun.

Hamid trembles, but inches a little bit closer.

Hamid is warm. It’s all he can think of as the beginnings of wakefulness begin to push at his sleepy brain. He’s warm and he’s comfortable, with the bone deep satisfaction of a good night’s sleep after a hard day. He can feel the stirrings of morning friskiness but is too sleepy to pay attention in any great way.

The halfling turns over and presses his face into a pillow, letting out a sleepy noise of contentment.

“Good morning.”

The words do not boom so much as they rumble, but they rip through Hamid like a crossbow bolt. He tries to scramble away from the source of the sound, only to find himself pulled back in by a scaley tail. Apophis is in his humanoid form—with the exception of the extra limb—laying on his side. He has clearly been curled around the space where Hamid has spent the last several hours sleeping and where he now sprawls back into.

He has to clear his sore throat twice to be able to speak at all. “G—good morning,” he says, rigid upon the cushions. Whatever calm he’d managed to accrue throughout his sleep is gone now and he stares at Apophis. The dragon looks relaxed as he’s ever seen him. Just… watching with those eerily orange eyes. His tail curls possessively over Hamid’s back.

He wants to push it off, to assert some amount of personal space and autonomy, but…

But he also hasn’t talked to anyone in several days and the buzz at the inside of his skull is gone as long as Apophis is here.

“You slept well, I hope?”

Hamid manages not to wince as the words make his teeth vibrate. Apophis didn’t open his mouth to say them. Instead they seem to resonate from the empty air around the two of them.

“Yes, thank you,” Hamid says, trying to inject as much courtesy into his voice as he can. “I’m… I’m warm. It’s nice. Did… did you sleep well?”

“I do not sleep often,” Apophis replies. His head is propped on a clawed hand as he lounges. Hamid is surprised to see how lithe the dragon looks, rich brown robes draped artfully around him. He would have thought a being as powerful as Apophis would choose a form that showed more of its…

Well, its power.

But the dragon hardly needs to look threatening to make its mark, does it?

Hamid can feel the bulge beneath his navel when he shifts his weight or when the tail stroking across his back shifts it for him.

Gooseflesh rises on his skin.

He wants to say something—anything to break the growing silence between them—but he doesn’t know what they can talk about. More than the silence he fears what might follow. He’s achingly aware of his bare skin and the scrape of Apophis’ scales against it.

But he’s almost more aware of the keenness with which he would feel the _loss_ of the touch.

He doesn’t know which is worse.

“Are you… um…” Hamid falters, his manners and questions escaping him under the scrutiny of those burning eyes. “Why are you here?”

“You called for me.”

Hamid remembers screaming and touches his throat. He’d been calling for his friends.

And then he’d called for Apophis.

“Where are my friends, Apophis?” His lower lip trembles, but he keeps eye contact with the dragon. “Are they alright? Did they get the Heart of Aphrodite and help Sasha?”

The heat in Apophis’ eyes flares momentarily and the temperature of the air between them skyrockets. “You think I would break my word?”

Hamid is suddenly unconvinced of his own relative safety. He had assumed that Apophis wouldn’t hurt him while he carried the egg, especially not with as covetous as he had seemed.

But the searing heat that is emanating from him now belies that entirely.

Even with his innate fire resistance, Hamid can feel his skin begin to heat. It tears a cry from him and he tries to pull back, but the tail is weighing him down.

“Please!” His eyes are squeezed shut and he shies away as best he can. “I don’t! I’m just concerned! I’m just scared, please!”

The temperature plummets and Hamid feels a hand on his cheek. It is comparatively cool, but it burns nonetheless.

The caress meant to comfort only burns him.

“It’s alright, little one. Your friends are safe.” The words are clipped and Hamid can’t discern the emotion behind them, too busy gritting his teeth against the pain of that touch. When the hand pulls away, he’s relieved to find that there is no actual damage. Only the faint pulse of _too warm for too long_. “They’ve moved on from Cairo. Wilde has taken them to Damascus.”

Hamid’s eyes flick open and he stares in horror at the dragon. Apophis’ face is closed off, inscrutable. He looks as he had during the meeting with the party—imperious, powerful—but he’s never been this way with Hamid. He’s only ever held him in his gaze with that intense [scrutiny] that makes him squirm and wonder whether he’s going to be punished in some way.

Hamid knows how disappointment can crush like a stone or impale like a knife in the dark. He knows the desperate crawl back from that as well as he knows his own name. The house of al-Tahan is seeped in the stench of his failures. And even if he will not— _cannot_ —count resisting Apophis as among them, the tone of voice is more than enough to make his heart leap into his chest.

There’s a part of him that will do anything to avoid feeling like that again.

But he’s almost certain that this impassivity is worse.

It’s a tug-of-war within him as the meaning of Apophis’ words sink in.

“They’ve…. Left?” He can’t stop the words and he claps his hands to his mouth as they fall from it, terrified it will only anger the dragon more.

The tail lifts off of him and his stomach sinks like a stone.

He’s done it again.

Apophis straightens up from the position he had been lounging and does something that confuses Hamid very much.

He reaches out and cards a hand through the halfling’s hair.

“They’ve left you behind, little one. They got what they wanted and they left you behind.”

The dragon’s voice is soft, softer than Hamid has ever heard. From within the tangled knot of panic and desperation not to disappoint, he feels…

“I have business to attend to.”

Apophis voice has gone back to normal. Not the impassivity, but that curling, indefinable intensity. And as he stands and his hand leaves Hamid’s hair, Hamid is at a loss for words.

He watches the dragon leave the boundaries of the nest and disappear into the gloom.

Hamid lays for a very long time, staring up into the darkness of the pyramid and trying to untangle the knot inside of him.

There has been too much in too little time.

The chill is back, but not as strongly as before and he can take some solace in that fact. He doesn’t know why he takes solace in it, since he’s almost positive that it has something to do with Apophis, but he’d rather bear that terrible heat again than be subjected to the cold.

His friends have left him. In reality, he knows he should doubt the dragon’s words. He should examine them for even an ounce of deceit or malice. But there’s a corner of him that rings true with the sound of them.

Why _would_ his friends wait for him? Apophis is a Meritocrat and they are Meritocratic agents—or at least mercenaries receiving Meritocratic money and really, which inspires more loyalty? Wilde certainly would have believed anything the Apophis office had to say about Hamid’s staying within the pyramid. And his family is in Cairo, in the midst of mourning. They aren’t likely to consider the circumstances of the estranged son, especially not one who is as much of a disappointment as he.

A pang goes through him at the thought of Azisa and how he’d failed her, too.

Hamid covers his eyes with an arm and breathes deeply, fighting off the burning behind his eyes.

He wishes he had been able to save her.

He wishes with every fiber of his being.

 _You were able to save Sasha, though_ , says an errant thought.

It’s true, he supposes. As long as she’s safe. As long as her ailment is lifted then… then that’s worth all this, isn’t it? Whatever happens to him, Sasha deserves to be safe and healthy and _alive_. He remembers the times she smiled at him, at his indignation or a stray joke or any one of his peculiarities. She’d never quite understood his incessant need to be _neat_ at all times, but she had humored him, nonetheless.

Sasha always smiled like it was a surprise.

He wishes that she can find it within her to smile more easily with time.

And he finds that he can smile a little bit at the thought.

He just… He wishes that his friends had come to said goodbye.

Hours pass and Apophis does not return.

It fills Hamid with more trepidation than he would have thought possible.

The dragon’s motives are opaque.

One moment he’s possessive, curling his tail around Hamid’s back like it’s a comfort, the next he’s violent and burning and _pain_ , and the next he’s as cold as a being of air and fire can possibly be.

Hamid doesn’t know which of these mercurial moods he prefers. He doesn’t think he _should_ have a preference. It seems… wrong.

Everything seems wrong.

Everything _is_ wrong.

Hamid’s hand strays once again to the bump under his navel.

It’s strange to think that there’s something growing inside of him. He doesn’t know how any of this works, whether his body is simply a way to hold the egg and keep it warm or whether he’s _contributing_ something to it. It’s not like they’d covered draconic reproductive cycles in university or like it’s something he can sus out himself.

He’d thought that the terrible _cold_ was something to do with the egg, but looking down at his stomach—distended and unfamiliar as it is—he doesn’t think that’s it. It doesn’t feel like the egg could _take_ from him like that.

Hamid leans back into the cushions and sighs, still running his hand lightly over the bulge.

Hamid wakes warm and comfortable, fuzzy from whatever dream he’d been having—he only remembers that it was nice, soft, full of light and shining things. He’s still on his back, though, and the weight within him is pressing down, making him squirm at the strange sensation.

Hamid tries to turn over and bury his face in a pillow, only to find himself levered back into place by a hand on his bare hip.

He opens his eyes and finds Apophis in his human form, staring up from between Hamid’s legs. The dragon licks his lips and Hamid can see the way his cat-slit pupils shrink and expand as he’s pinned by the gaze, can see the slick of spit and other fluids around his mouth.

He can feel heat in the gaze and at his core and it spreads sickeningly up into his face.

He tries to turn again, to pull his knees into his chest and escape the burning stare, but Apophis only laughs and keeps him where he is, talons digging into the skin of his hips in a way that will surely mark. As if the dragon needs _marks_ to show his claim on the halfling.

“No, no, little one,” he says, voice low and hot. “We have something we need to do. But if you want to be like that...”

Without any acknowledgement of effort, Apophis lifts Hamid and arranges him on his hands and knees. With a hand pressing on his lower back to arch his spine, the dragon spreads his cheeks and licks him from clit to cunt.

It sends a stab of searing want straight into him and Hamid moans, throwing himself forward into the cushions of his nest. It’s too much and despite the undeniable pleasantness of the warmth after the chill of Apophis’ absence, Hamid wants to cry.

It’s too much.

It’s always too much too fast and he can’t—

He can’t…

It’s too much and it feels _good_ with that clever, rough tongue pressing into him, no matter how he tries to pull away or protest. No matter how he tries to convince himself that it isn’t arousing, isn’t filling him with a hunger he feels in his bones.

 _If you just relaxed,_ comes the thought unbidden into his mind, _this could be good. This could be_ nice _for you._

But he doesn’t want it to be nice. Nice isn’t what this is—being forced into this position and taken. Hamid hates whatever part of him thinks that it could be nice or pleasant, even.

He hates that he knows it’s true, more.

Desperate not to make a sound as he grows wetter under Apophis’ ministrations, Hamid sinks his teeth into his forearm. For half a moment he winces and wonders if it will be hard enough to draw blood, then chastises himself for worrying about it. A bloody arm is the least of his troubles.

_And you like a bit of pain, don’t you?_

Hamid squeezes his eyes shut and tries to ignore the thoughts, tries not to remember the times he asked Liliana to use her nails, tries not to remember coming with her teeth buried in his shoulder, how it had bled after and he’d traced the marks reverently in the mirror. It had been the same with Gideon, too, when he and Liliana endeavored to take him apart.

Even Bertie, who had never even considered fucking the halfling as far as he can tell, had enjoyed inflicting a little bit of pain on him. A guiding hand on his shoulder or the back of his neck, fingers pressing against the skin until Hamid had no choice but to comply— _and enjoy the lack of choice,_ the voice adds, _the direction and satisfaction of someone’s approval._

Apophis has been between Hamid’s legs for a while, he can tell, and he can feel himself growing more and more wet as the rough tongue plays with his opening, as the dragon slides a dexterous finger over his clit, rubbing small circles and pinching lightly at intervals. He can’t help the noises that fall from his mouth, the pants and moans, even as he tries to pull away from the sensations.

But Hamid can’t pull away completely, even though he knows he’s on the edge of coming. The rising edge of it is sharp, decisive, like a knife aiming for the heart of him and he sobs as it lands its mark. He comes on Apophis’ tongue and fingers and hates that he loves it just a little bit. Hates that his body would betray him like this even as his mind—

 _See?_ say his traitorous thoughts. _See how good this could be? How much better it could be?_

A hand smooths up Hamid’s back, and when a set of talons rake lightly down the skin right after, he shudders. His cunt pulses with the aftershocks of his orgasm and the attention being paid him.

“Good boy,” Apophis says, and licks a stripe across his lower back. Hamid feels as the moisture cools on his superheated skin and can’t suppress another shiver. “Now that you’re all opened up for me, why don’t we see about breeding you?”

A wave of fear jolts through Hamid and he makes a strangled noise, tries to pull away from hands that are now gripping his hips with a strength like iron.

“Please, please, Apophis—”

The dragon laughs. “Please? For one who puts up a struggle, you do beg a lot, little one.”

Hamid feels heat in his face as he blushes and shame like acid in his chest when he realizes what that sounded like. There is so little difference in the tone between _please yes_ and _please no_ and Apophis must have taken him for the former.

Hamid twists and squirms, trying to pry himself free of the grip to no avail.

“I promise you’ll enjoy this if you just let yourself.” Talons dig into the pudge at his sides and Hamid bites back a sound as his cunt clenches again at the thought of him doing that while inside him—

He wants to swear, to curse and hurl imprecations at the dragon, but he can’t make the words come out, can’t find the tone to convey the proper emotion.

“Now...”

Hamid feels a now familiar nudge at his opening as the slightly pointed tip of Apophis cock lines up.

 _Press back_ , say his thoughts, _press back and feel him fill you like the desperate little thing you are_.

His shakes his head angrily, as much in denial as to try to dislodge the thoughts. As much to clear the haze of satisfaction that the words bring. He can’t. He can’t do it because that would be giving in and if he gives in, then what does that mean for him?

He’s been trying to _change_ , been trying to be his own person, not just depend on the approval of those around him. Not just ride on the coat-tails of his friends and companions. He wants to help, to do _good_.

He doesn’t want to just give in.

He can’t do that anymore.

He just…

With the hands digging into his hips, Apophis begins to pull Hamid back onto his cock. His slick lips part and he can feel himself stretching around the girth of it, can feel as his body _wants_ to rock back into it, to be opened up. It’s like a yawning chasm inside of him, this need to be filled, to be fucked. He has no idea where it’s coming from but the gravity it exerts upon him is stronger by the second.

His thighs tremble with the effort of resisting the pull, his back arches just a little, and a high, needy sound wrenches itself from his mouth.

 _Give in, for once. Let him make you feel good. Let him fill you up and show him how good you can be. Earn the praise you crave,_ the voice says, [sneering, disdainful, pushing, influencing]. _It would be so much easier to give in_.

Hamid remembers the cold. He remembers the loneliness and the itching in his mind and the chasm that had opened in his heart at the abandonment.

He remembers that his friends are gone. That they’d left him here without saying goodbye despite all they’d been through.

He remembers the heat of Apophis’ gaze, his casual possessiveness, the _want_ —

He remembers…

… And he gives in.

He stops resisting the pull of gravity and pushes back onto the cock slowly breaching him. A sound halfway between a sigh of relief and a moan escapes his throat as he does so. It’s surprising enough that it makes his insides clench a little.

Apophis lets out a sound, low, guttural, predatory, and Hamid can no longer deny the pulse of heat that it sends through him.

He presses back and feels the stretch, feels the way made easier by his own slick, then feels that _pop_ of the head of Apophis’ cock as it passes into him. Just that is enough to make him pant and moan and he feels a jolt of shame, of disbelief in himself, but he can’t make himself stop.

One of Apophis’ hands leaves his hip and smooths down his flank, stroking him, sending shivers down his spine. “That’s it. Good boy.”

Hamid feels a curl of pleasure deep in his gut at both the words and the possessive movement of the dragon’s hand. When it dips around under his belly to press at the bulge of the egg, a keen falls from his lips. He claps a hand to his mouth to muffle the sound, heat flushing his face and neck.

“No,” says Apophis, and Hamid watches as a pressure is exerted on his wrist, an invisible force pulling his hand away from his mouth. The noises continue to fall from his mouth, unimpeded.

Apophis presses on the egg again and Hamid’s hips twitch, pushing the cock another centimeter deeper. It’s enough that one of the ridges presses against his opening and he can’t help but rock against it. The stretch and push and pull is deliciously, disturbingly hot. The motion makes Apophis’ hand on his belly jostle the egg. Another wave of heat rushes through him and, despite his last orgasm being only minutes ago, he can feel the beginnings of that pressure again. He should feel overstimulated, sore, raw, but all he can feel is how well the dragon’s cock is filling him up and how the egg presses against the walls of his womb.

“Fuck — _fuck,”_ he moans, and tries to press back more, only to be stopped by the hand on his hip.

“Greedy little thing, aren’t you?” Apophis laughs and Hamid can feel the vibrations in his cunt. “And wasn’t it so much easier?”

Now, even through the haze of pleasure and the instinct to press back, to be filled, to be fucked, Hamid feels a niggling sense of _wrong_. He tries to fuck himself backwards, tries to pre-empt whatever words Apophis is about to speak. But the dragon holds him fast, leans down, and whispers in his ear.

“Didn’t I tell you it would be so much easier to give in?”

_So much easier to let me make you feel good?_

The thoughts. The _voice_.

Apophis drives into him and Hamid sobs as twin spikes of pleasure and mortification jolt through him.

A trick. Apophis masquerading as his own thoughts.

 _I’m only telling you what you already know,_ _little one_ , comes the voice again. And this time it sounds undeniably like Apophis. It’s a searing heat across his mind, an enveloping warmth that leaves him aflame with sickening _comfort_.

“And you do feel so lovely around me,” Apophis whispers in his ear, curled over his back.

Curled over him like the dragon had been before, when Hamid had been craving the warmth and given in. Given in just enough.

Apophis twitches his hips forward the barest amount and Hamid comes, clenching around the cock inside him even as his eyes well up. The dragon sighs at the sensation, leans forward over Hamid’s small form, and then his tongue flicks out to catch the tears as they fall.

Hamid whines and tries to pull away, but his efforts are weak with how much his limbs shake in the aftermath of his orgasm, in the aftermath of everything that is happening and how much he wants to curl up and _scream_.

Of how much he wants to give in like he had done before. How much he wants to stop this excruciating fight against a being infinitely stronger than he.

His protestations, only moments earlier, flash through his mind in a vain attempt of resistance crumple like so many dragonfly wings in the hand of a giant.

It’s impossible.

Hamid cannot fight a dragon, a Meritocrat, a creature so powerful as this.

And he’s not sure that he wants to.

He doesn’t want to, he finds, as Apophis pulls back and pushes back in, so huge, so _overwhelming_.

There’s no point, really. It’s not a choice.

And if there’s no choice...

Well.

“Good,” comes the hiss in his ear, steeped in the sound of approval and power, “ _good_.”

And he does the only thing he can do.

Hamid lays in his pile of cushions with a hand on his stomach. The past few days have seen a marked increase in the size of the bulge. Before it could have been excused as an overindulgence—a good meal followed by a nice rest in a palace of pillows. But now it is clear that it is a thing nestled in the bowl of his pelvis, not of his provenance, but meant to be there nonetheless.

It’s too perfect, Hamid thinks, in the smoothness of its curve and the way that the stretchmarks are starting to show, pale and brassy through his skin. He thinks the egg might be textured. The same kind of scaliness now so prominent on his cheeks and neck, across his chest and back. They’ve become more pronounced over the last few days since Apophis has bred him.

 _Since he gave in_ , goes nearly unsaid in the drift of thoughts across his mind. His? Apophis’? Does it matter?

He is too fixated on the strangeness of this thing growing inside him to care, really.

A rush of heat like the opening of a furnace door is his warning as Apophis lands behind him and quickly shrinks to something approaching an accommodating form. The dragon said something about keeping Hamid comfortable, about wanting him at ease for this period of the incubation. And part of that is, ostensibly, the way that he curls around the halfling, naked and possessive, lips trailing down the curve of his neck, hands trailing down over his swollen belly and farther, pleasing him, keeping him slick and enthusiastic, whispering burning words and blistering promises.

“So close,” Apophis says, forked tongue flickering along the shell of Hamid’s lightly pointed ear. “So close, little one. And then a marvel that has not occurred in so many, many centuries. Millennia, even. And _you_ will be the one to help bring it about.”

Hamid tries to convince himself that it is pride and excitement gurgling through his gut.

Apophis’ rubs a cheek over the scales on his neck and Hamid lets a shiver run through him, doesn’t resist.

He pushes back into the touch and lets out a sigh of contentment.

It might even be real.

If he pretends hard enough.

**Author's Note:**

> That's an ending of a sort, right?
> 
> * _stares down at my shirt that has an egg on it_ *
> 
> Happy New Year I guess.


End file.
